


Curse of the Fog - Prologue

by Vabam



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Hellsing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 19:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21124079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vabam/pseuds/Vabam
Summary: A heroine fights against herself, her wills and inner demons, to find the determination, and the lost admiration, to be human.





	Curse of the Fog - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited, and not proof read. I'll edit it when I come back to it, or not at all. Comments are appreciated. Characters from the series that are listed will make late appearances, depending on the intent in the next publication.

The willows and bramble covered the forest. A dedication to the mournful and the pricks of loneliness. A fine grey mist dampened the color of the forest, and reached high over the trees. Bridges and stone work suggested that there were higher places to climb, but the walls of stone were smooth, and the grooves were water washed. Too slick to find any purchase and climb up. A path had to be found, cut through the bramble and thorns. Anne sat in the middle of the woods, looking up. There were grey clouds parting way for a half crest moon. Higher above the bridges and stones were lanterns. Torches, even. People held them high, and sang quiet hymns, hoping that those below would be comforted. They were people that cut a path, or perhaps never found themselves among the weeping trees. They made it easier, or at least tried to make it easier, for those who had no way out. For those who were alone. It was the curse of this place. No one could find each other in the fog. The fog was too thick, even if you could hear the wailing of those nearby. Sometimes, she found someone in the bramble, stuck and bleeding. Stuck with the choice of pulling them out or leaving them there. Neither option was appealing. Anne had nothing to aide their wounds if she pulled them out. Sometimes they were stronger than her, and they fought against her. And they pulled her into the bramble and thorns. To some, pulling them out of the bramble was a more painful experience than if they were left in it. Helping looked like a punishment. Helping felt like a punishment, since Anne had no tools to cut the bramble, to untangle those who had fallen in. Pulling them would only cut deeper.  
It was a painful, disconcerting feeling. To be cursed by the fog. Anne had few options in this forest. She liked to look up, trying to find the lanterns that looked like stars. People who called down hopeful advises from afar. But she couldn’t sit still in the clearing. No one was coming. The fog would keep her cursed, bound to this place. She had to get moving. And it would came at the cost of going deeper into the forest of weeping trees, obscuring the lanterns for a time.


End file.
